Faulty Equipment
by wp1fan
Summary: Castle hasn't made love to a woman in well over a year. Why?  The cat's out of the bag.  Chapter 3 now added.  *Note rating change.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my first fic in the awesome Castle fandom, though I've watched since day one. It's been years since I've done this at all. Be gentle. **

**Disclaimer: I claim no ownership. I'd like to, though.**

"My equipment is _not_ broken." Castle sighs and tilts back in Beckett's chair, hearing the springs creak as his feet lift off of the floor and his body eases back carefully.

"Bro, that's the only explanation for it." Esposito shakes his head, as if attempting to clear a visual from his mind, but he can't quite let it go as he adds "I just don't get it."

Ryan nods in agreement as he leans back against the desk near his partner. He looks at Castle sympathetically.

"What don't you get?" Lanie asks as she Beckett approach the trio, carrying plastic bags filled with their dinner.

Beckett had decided to drag Lanie along to grab the food, mainly because she wanted to do something nice for her team, and she knew if Castle was with her he'd insist on paying. It had nothing to do with the fact that she found herself being unusually handsy with him tonight; sliding a palm between his shoulder blades to urge him up when he stole her seat twice earlier in the afternoon, finding excuses to exchange papers and pens and files with him just so their fingers could linger a bit during the exchange. It really had nothing to do with that. Nothing at all.

"Nothing." Hearing her mind's word in Castle's insistent voice forces her to join the conversation. "Food smells great. I'm starving." He changes the subject, pulling himself from Beckett's chair and motioning towards it so she can have a seat or plop the bags down. She does both as she eyes the three men suspiciously.

Esposito and Ryan are smirking and Castle just looks downright uncomfortable.

"Castle's equipment is broken." Esposito does the courtesy of repeating the problem for the ladies.

"What equipment?" Kate and Lanie ask simultaneously. Lanie eyes Esposito through suspiciously slanted lids, while Beckett surveys her desk and chair at the mention of anything being broken. She warns that man daily _not _to touch things. Everything looks fine. Huh.

"His... Little Castle." Esposito provides.

"Alexis?" Lanie asks the question and when Castle groans, Ryan decides to help the process along. Leave it to the Latin Lover to not be able to give a good description here.

"No," he corrects, lowering his voice, "his Joy Stick. Magic Wand? Trouser Snake-"

"You're impotent?" the ME asks, incredulously. She glances over at Kate, who looks a bit horrified and is either staring at the corner of her desk or Castle's crotch. Lanie suspects it's not the desk. "Oh, honey that's not the end of the world. Little blue pills, little white pills, lots of solutions for that problem out there. I know I deal with stiffs all day-oh, bad word choice. But, anyway, I can get you a prescription for something."

Castle drops his head to his hands. Esposito snorts.

"Oh my God. My...everything down there works just fine, thankyouverymuch." Castle was speaking in the direction of Kate, who was now looking anywhere _but _at him.

Ryan is doubled over with laughter and begins swiping at his eyes as he watches Lanie sock the Latin detective in the shoulder. "That's just mean, Javier Esposito! I thought you were serious. What if people went around saying that you couldn't...rise to the occasion?"

"I'd say that _you'd_ know better." Off of Lanie's sexy scowl, he continues. "Actually, Chica, you're kind of to blame for the discussion of Castle's faulty equipment."

Lanie looks like she might hit him again, so he rushes to explain.

"Okay," he takes a deep breath and nods to Castle who is glaring at him, arms crossed, not amused. "Well, Ryan was complaining because he hadn't gotten laid this week."

"It's only Tuesday," Kate manages to chime in, a little irritated.

Ryan shrugs, unashamed.

"I know, right? See? So, I just let it be known that I was the one really sacrificing myself. I haven't gotten any since December." He grins at Lanie's pleasantly surprised expression. "So, I thought I deserved a little pity from my boys here. Then writer boy has to go and show me up. Don't get me wrong, though. This is not a contest I'd ever want to win." He looks from Lanie to Kate. His girl (ex, but who's counting) has a softer expression, probably at finding out there's been no one else since their breakup. Kate's expression, however, is still a little scary.

"Get to the point, Espo."

"Your boy here hasn't 'entertained' a lady in, what was it Bro, sixteen months?"

"Close enough," Rick mumbles under his breath. Everyone's attention is on him now. Even Ryan has that shocked and appalled look back on his face.

"Yeah. And you're famous. Well, kinda." Castle looks less offended now than the ladies do, so Esposito chooses to address them instead. "Chicks hit on him all the time. And he hasn't had sex in well over a year? You see why we came to the conclusion that he can't get the job done? Makes sense, right?"

Kate can feel the heat of a blush creeping to her chest and face as she realizes she's staring through Castle and he's looking right at her. She can't tell if the warmth is coming because she's offended for him-his virility, hot for him, or just oh so willing to aid him in proving that every bit of him is in perfectly working order right here on her desk. _Geez_, _pull_ _it_ _together_, _Beckett_. She's ashamed that when the notion of him being impotent swirled in her mind, she'd be lying if she said there wasn't a flicker of disappointment, but she mainly thought about how he still had those big hands, thick fingers, sly mouth and she was stuck daydreaming about how they could overcome his obstacle together. Only now there was no obstacle. Never was. Makes her wonder how many of the things stopping them from moving forward are really phantom obstacles too.

And he hasn't had sex in sixteen months? Damn. It's been right around a year for her and there are some times when the urge hits so hard (_like_ _today_) that she has to walk away and talk herself off the ledge before she just jumps someone's bones. Castle's bones . He has the only bones she's been thinking about jumping for a long time. Even when she had Josh—she's not proud of it, but it was Castle she fantasied about. That was probably the point where she should have known that the relationship with her boyfriend was less than stellar, huh?

Esposito is right about something, though. Castle _would _have had many opportunities over the last year plus to bed a multitude of women. She'd be lying if the knowledge that the "playboy" could be expunged from Richard Castle's resume didn't send an arrow of pleasing arousal straight to her belly. Could he be waiting for her? In her mind's eye, making love to this man was something that, on one hand seemed inevitable, but was also tucked away into the recurring fantasy category.

"You not hungry?"

Castle is behind her, startling her, his warm breaths caressing her neck as he inquires. He's close. Very close. Too close. She wants him closer. His hands are curled around the top of her chair, tipping her a bit off balance and causing the back of her head to come into contact with his chest as she looks up at him.

"I'm…yeah. Hungry." Good Lord, she wasn't even going for the double entendre, but even she could hear the sex dripping from her own voice. Lanie would never let her live this down. Wait, where _is_ Lanie? And Ryan and Esposito, for that matter. She rocks forward in the chair and feels Castle's fingertips slip down her biceps before he releases her to swing around and drop down into his own chair.

"In there," he nods towards the breakroom, answering her unspoken question. "Eating our share of the breadsticks, I'm sure."

"Knowing Ryan, they're already gone."

"You're right. He's always squirreling stuff away. Jenny must seriously deprive him."

"Apparently, she doesn't deprive him of _everything_." It is out of her mouth before she can stop it. She's really doing this. Bringing this tête-à-tête back up to see where he'll take it. She grins at him.

"Touché. He's faring far better than the rest of us, it seems. Well, Esposito and I, at least. You and Lanie didn't share—not that you should have. Just, I don't want to assume-"

"Castle, I can't speak for Lanie, but my 'number' hasn't increased in a year, either. And by how delighted to know that Esposito hasn't been Paso Doble-ing himself into another woman's bed, I'd say she's probably waiting on him, too."

"You think they'll make it?"

"I do. She loves him, but she's scared."

"Maybe he's scared too." He offers, a look of hope adorning his features. His eyes are creasing at the edges where they are held up by the beginnings of a smile filling his cheeks.

"Maybe. Maybe they'll find that there's really nothing to be afraid of when they're in it together." She wasn't quite sure who they were talking about at this point, but it didn't matter. This is how she felt—it didn't matter if it was Lanie and Esposito, she and Castle, or two strangers making eye contact across a crowded bar. It took a bullet to the chest, an ill-timed declaration of love, a psychiatrist, and a multitude of 'second' chances for her to be able to peek over top of the pile of rubble that was her wall.

"Speak of the devil. Devils." Castle raises an eyebrow and jerks his head to sway her attention to the other end of the bullpen.

Kate turns around just in time to see the elevator doors closing behind Lanie and Esposito, tucked tightly together. A little further to the left she can see Ryan opening the door to head down the stairwell's exit, familiar bags in hand. "Did he just steal our dinner?"

Castle stands from the chair and bounces on his tip toes as he squints towards the breakroom, seeing nothing but empty tables. "I believe that's an affirmative. Hey, I know it's no 'Del Buon Gusto', but 'La Campagna' is open twenty-four seven and has all you can eat breadsticks."

He sing-songs the last part about the breadsticks, drawling it out temptingly, as if the food is the only reason she'd be enticed to go with him. But, that's where they've ended up, isn't it? And she put them there. Sitting on swings with her essentially telling him to wait until she was darn good and ready and to not push and to stay back and let her lead. That no one was home and to come back later. And he has. He's given her everything, but asked for nothing in return.

"'La Campagna'. Yeah, I know the place. Not a great selection of wine, though."

"Yeah, yeah. You're right. You're probably getting tired anyway, huh? Grueling day."

She hates the crestfallen expression that he's trying to hide behind a smile. She just wants to tease him a little, coax another real smile out of him. "There's actually a place nearby there with great wine. I know the owner. He might let us have a bottle." She leans in closer to him, lips barely brushing his ear. "I think he likes me." He pulls back a little to look at her. He still looks a touch uncomfortable. Oh, for goodness sake, does he still not get it? "Only thing is…we have to be careful…" She twists her fingers around a button on his shirt, fists the fabric in her hand and pushes back on him hard enough for him to stumble a bit as she saunters towards the elevator, tossing her final clue over her shoulder "I hear he might have some faulty equipment."

She laughs, a deep guttural thing, as he catches up to her and rushes to enter the elevator before her, palms flat holding the doors open and preventing her from entering, his broad frame filling the entrance, chest pressed against hers. "You're going to force him to prove you wrong, you know?"

His full smile, all teeth and eyes and fun and love. That's what she's been missing. "I'm looking forward to it, Castle."

**Thanks so much for reading. If you've made it this far, I'd love to know what you think. I'm not opposed to writing more. I, actually, have more planned, but only if it's thought of as warranted. **

**-Ann**


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Man, you people are amazing. I've been completely shocked all weekend from the response this fic has received. If you keep that up, I may be forced to write forever. By the way, these characters do not do anything you want them to do at any pace you want them to do it at. Just sayin'. There will be at least one more chapter after this one. Don't expect it quite as quickly, though-I was off this weekend with not much to do (housework be damned). On with the fic.

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Shucks.

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"I. Am. Stuffed." Castle rubs his stomach as they step out onto the damp sidewalk. It must have rained while they were in the restaurant. He has his jacket draped over his arm, but even with the rain, the unseasonably warm temperatures make the extra layer unnecessary. "So, Old Haunt for your wine?"

"Oh, Old Haunt? Yeah, yeah we can go there." Kate pauses and begins to change direction, deciding to slide her coat on as she moves.

She doesn't really seem like she's trying to shirk him, but something in her voice sounds like she's disappointed. "Um, we don't have to. I just thought you said—"

"I was thinking more along the lines of your private collection. The good stuff. Your loft." She smiles, but backtracks at his dazed look. "Sorry, presumptuous of me. Old Haunt would be great. They're both walking distance from here. Nice night. Well, temperature-wise at least. Looks like it might rain again. Hard to see the clouds in the dark, though. I think we'll make it if we-"

"Hey." Castle stops her ramblings with a grip to her wrist. "My place—my loft—is fine. Better, even. Mother still has a smorgasbord of left-over desserts laid out on my kitchen counter that she supplied for her acting class last night. Apparently fattening desserts and a group of self-conscious young wannabes didn't go over too well. More for us, I say."

"I thought you were stuffed?" She jokes as she falls rhythmically into step beside him. His hand is still on her, loosened from her wrist now, but still there, lingering on the cuff of her sleeve, backs of his curled fingers slipping inside to brush her pulse as they walk.

"Well, I figure sometime between you plying me with wine and trying to ravage me, I'll be up for cheesecake."

"Dream on." Kate takes advantage of her mock offense and clenches his hand, lacing their fingers together and bending his backwards in what would normally be construed as a punishing grip if her hold hadn't been so light.

"Don't mind if I do." He squeezes her fingers once in return and wiggles his own a little until their hands separate.

Kate looks down at her empty hand, then over to him. He looks happy and carefree, not evasive or dismissive at all. His words are flirty, but that's as far as he's taking it. His control is slowly shocking her system. _Sixteen months_, she reminds herself. Oh my God, this self-control might be the death of her. They've had three years of foreplay and she is itching for more. This feeling of freedom—freedom of finally knowing exactly what you want and thinking it's getting close to happening—is a glorious thing. She wonders if he ever felt that sense of freedom in regards to his feelings for her, only to have her dismiss him and keep him wondering. The irony isn't lost on her…this same restraint of his that she's damning right this second is only in place because she's demanded it since day one.

"What's wrong?" She looks up at Castle's query and the lightness in his eyes has darkened in concern. "You're quiet," he explains his own question when he reads the one on her face.

"Nothing." She can see he doesn't believe her. "Really. I'm good. Very good. Dangerously close to a carbohydrate coma." He smiles at that. "But, I'm having a nice time."

"Well, I'm glad. I'm sorry we didn't get to talk much at dinner. I had no clue Italian restaurants did late-night karaoke." _Loud _karaoke. The place was packed with people stuffing their faces with spaghetti and filling their bloodstreams with cheap wine, probably in order to drop their inhibitions enough to either join the bad singing or be able to tolerate it. It wasn't pretty. The saving graces of the place were appetizing food (lasagna for him and eggplant parm for her) and being forced to eat at the bar due to the crowed house. The loud atmosphere required them to move in _really _close to speak or listen to each other, but unfortunately for him those instances were few and far between. Castle's glad he had the offer of wine elsewhere to fall back on. She had probably thought this had been a pretty lousy date otherwise. _Date?_ It felt kind of like a date. A man and a woman eating dinner out, walking close, sharing good conversation, going to his home for a nightcap…could he hope for a kiss? He wouldn't push. But if the moment was there and she seemed willing… Maybe. _Don't press your luck, stud._ Okay, so no kiss then. Perhaps a promise of another date?

"Don't be sorry. It was amusing to watch. And the food was wonderful. I still can't believe Ryan stole our dinner, though. He's totally buying next time."

"Good luck with that. What I can't believe is how Lanie and Esposito totally snuck out on us. Well, they weren't really that sneaky. Wonder what they're doing right now?" He bumps her shoulder playfully and, when she meet his eyes, elevates and drops his brows suggestively.

"Ew, Castle. I don't want to picture that."

"True, true. They're so doing it, though. Good for them, I say."

"Yes, they've wasted too much time. They're both totally stubborn. I'm sure Lanie will text me too many details about it tomorrow." She shudders a bit because Lanie really doesn't hold back much. She knows things about Esposito that she doesn't _need_ to know. Impressive things, true, but he is like her brother and just…no.

"So, you and Lanie talk about that kind of stuff?"

"What kind of stuff?" She throws a teasingly innocent look his way.

"Men. Relationship stuff." He lowers his voice as if embarrassed by the question. "Sex?"

"We do, yeah. Some. Not a lot to talk about lately. Our talks mostly consist of Lanie telling me that I need to have fun. Then we argue about how she's being an idiot with the Esposito thing. Then she tells me I'm being an idiot about—well, things," her mouth finds her filter before she spills too much. Talk about awkward. _Yeah, Castle, when I give Lanie 'Esposito advice', she gives me 'you advice' and that's why I avoid too much alone time with my friend nowadays. But I might be getting my shit together, so maybe that'll change, okay?_

"Why does she think you're being an idiot?"

Okay, so, the filter didn't work. Peachy.

"Lanie thinks I need to find someone. Go out. Have fun. Do…things." _Not really a lie. _Though they were always a little more specific on whom the 'someone' was.

"Well, not great advice. You shouldn't force it. Just—you know who you are, Kate. Listen to yourself, not someone else." He slows his pace a little as they round the corner, only a half a block away from his loft. He likes this open communication thing they have going here. It's nice.

"So, I shouldn't listen to you, then?"

"Not what I meant. Don't listen to Lanie." His smile is wide. "But don't tell her I said that!"

"Lanie didn't like Josh and I didn't take her advice there, so she hasn't let me live that down." Why the hell is she bringing up Josh? _Filter, Beckett._

"Nevermind. Listen to Lanie." He curls his thumb and pointer finger around in the 'ok' gesture and clicks his tongue. "Great advice giver. Best I know. You_ can _tell her I said that part."

Kate chokes a little on her laugh. Josh crisis averted. She knows eventually she'll have to talk to Castle about Josh, the reasons they were together, the reasons why they now weren't. She's not sure whether she'll leave in the part where during the pinnacle of their breakup mid-summer, he cleared the Richard Castle section off the bookshelf-of her old bedroom in her dad's cabin-by swiping the books to the floor and accusing her of acting on many of the same things that she'd been fantasizing about lately. And that her dad heard the commotion and his angry-father glower was enough to influence Josh to leave quietly. Her dad never told her what, if anything, he said to Josh as he ushered him out of her room, out the front door, and out of her life. He also never voiced anything aloud (his eyes said enough) as he came back up the stairs and carefully placed Rick's books back upon the shelf. "Yes, you and Lanie would gossip together swimmingly well. She's certainly a fan of yours."

"Lanie reads my stuff? Sweet."

"Oh, no. Well, she might. I don't know." _She read page 105._ "I meant, of you, as a person."

"You guys talk about me? What about?" She expected a leer, but instead he looks truly curious, soft around the edges, putting a lot of stock in hearing that someone she trusts and seeks counsel from is fond of him.

"Mainly how annoying you are." His faux pout induces a giggle from her. "How you rarely listen to anything I say. How I'd like to cuff you to a chair at some point during most cases. The usual."

"Hmm. I always pictured bed, but I could probably make a chair work. Are we talking precinct chairs? We'll have to use yours—it's bouncier. But the breakroom chairs don't have armrests—that might be bett-"

"Castle!" She was blushing again. Damn him and his composure. How did discussing the logistics of chair sex not affect him when she had been feeling the heavy rumblings of arousal low in her belly all night?

"Right, sorry." _Not really. Embarrassment looks lovely on you, Detective Beckett. _"Just promise me that you'll never ever discuss the fact that Lanie tried to supply me with Viagra?"

"I will make no such promise."

"Beck-ett," he whines, grasping the belt on the back of her coat and tugging her back towards him before she can reach for the door of his building. "That's putting my masculinity in peril."

She spins to face him and has a witty retort on her tongue about how he screams like a girl and his manliness may have been in jeopardy long ago, but it dies before it leaves her lips. Because her palms have found themselves flat against his chest. Big, broad, solid, _masculine_ chest. Maybe this was a bad idea. Her mind has taken up permanent residence in the gutter and she is having a hard time envisioning herself clawing her way out. The only claws she can picture at the moment are her own, gripping the sinewy skin of his naked back as he moves to-.

"Are you thinking something unkind about me being girly? Not nice, Kate."

"Not exactly."

"I don't believe you."

"I was thinking that you have a nice chest." _Filter destroyed. All systems are a go._

"Oh."

_Ha. Take that, Castle. _

He flicks his eyes down to her hands as she runs them to his ribcage and back up, coming back to straddle his heart. _God._ He yearns to test his date theory with a kiss. She is _so_ close. She must be teasing him. This is a test, isn't it? He's always hated pop quizzes. "Um, I'd return the compliment if I didn't think you'd shoot me."

She chuckles, but then her breath catches. His hands have sneaked inside her coat and are on her waist, creeping up her sides sloooowly until his fingers find her gun strapped beneath her left armpit. "Can't shoot you. Too much paperwork," she manages to choke out. The fingers not dancing along her service piece have found purchase against her side, dangerously close to her breast. Between his warm digits and the misty air surrounding them, she feels her nipples pucker tightly against her blouse.

"Castle, I-"

"Certainly looks like a storm's brewing, huh Mr. Castle?" Charlie the doorman is standing in the entranceway, his back holding the heavy door open. He's staring up at the sky, apparently expecting the rain to drop down any second now, seemingly oblivious to Castle's proximity to Beckett.

Her forehead drops to his chest and he can feel her huff of amused frustration against him. "Seems so," he answers Charlie. He then brushes Kate's hair behind her ear to make space for his lips to murmur. "If you shoot _him_, I'll help you hide the body."

Next chapter will probably be 'M' folks. I know I'm long-winded with them. But, I love to 'hear' them talk. But, it's not always about what I want, when my aim is to entertain you all. Too much dialogue?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: _This site keeps eating this chapter. Sorry for the delay on the repost. _Thank you again for the amazing feedback. YOU are all amazing. This is the final chapter of this fic. Be forewarned that the rating has changed to "M". I hope I handled that tastefully, not just sex for the sake of sex. But, these characters have very PG-13 eyesex on my TV at 10:00pm, so I don't know how Marlowe is going to keep it on network TV when they finally get together. What a problem to have, huh, fandom? **

**This fic does not take place on the same plane as "47 seconds", which killed me by the way. I may deal with that angst in another story later.**

**A request with nothing to do with this story: Can you please say a prayer for my mom? She's had some serious health issues, beginning in January(I won't go into detail, but you can contact me through my profile, if you'd like). She has surgery next Wednesday and we're hoping for nothing cancerous. So, yeah, prayers would be awesome. Her name is Veronica.**

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They move from their respective corners to step off of the elevator and onto his floor at the same time, then both step back, dance a little, then finally Castle holds the door open and waves for her to exit first. She nods a 'thank you' with a courteous smile and moves towards the entry of his loft. They've went from make-out-ready to cordial friends in two minutes flat. This is _exactly_ what she didn't want to happen if they ever did…whatever it was they seem destined to do.

_Stupid, stupid. _

She's determined not to make this an excuse to run for the hills; her typical M.O. Why is it weird to almost-kiss (wasn't that where it had been headed?) in front of his doorman, but have very little trouble moaning into his mouth and practically groping each other in the midst of danger last year? Because they didn't have to talk about it, that's why. It had been labeled a "dumb idea" before anything even happened and that gave them a ready-made excuse-tied up for them in a nice, pretty little package. They were never forced to bring it to light—so it never had time to bloom into the thorny cactus of awkwardness. But now, they're heading into his home, preparing to drink wine and…talk. _That's_ the problem. How can they _not_ bring it up?

"So, Charlie seems like a nice guy." _Nice subject change, Beckett. Head first into the shallow end._ She slips out of her coat and places it in his outstretched hand, wandering around the living room while he hangs up both of their garments.

"He is. Usually nicer to me, though."

"What's that mean?" She watches him squat down in front of his wine cooler and peruse the bottles with his finger until he seemingly finds what he's looking for.

"Well, he practically shut the door in my face." He harrumphs and gives her a 'duh' look.

"He was hurrying ahead so he could push the elevator button for me. You're a big boy—you can hold open your own door. He was being a gentleman." She wants to stick her tongue out at him just to see his reaction. Poor Charlie is a sweet guy.

"Nothing gentlemanly in the way he was ogling you," he grumbles, mostly under his breath, but still loud enough for her to hear.

"Does that bother you?"

"He's eighty."

"Maybe I like older men." She bites her smile and waits for his retort.

"Maybe Lanie can give him my share of the Viagra."

Kate can't hold back her laugh at that. She tosses her head back with it, glad to know that they can still have their banter through this clumsiness. "Perhaps I just like that he thinks I have nice assets."

He pushes a glass of wine across the counter, their fingers both wrapping around the stem. Sliding closer, he ducks his head to meet her eyes; his own are filled with both sincerity and provocation. "I've always appreciated your assets, Detective." He pulls her hands into his, thumbs pressing into her palms, her fingers coerced into gripping them. "I remember a little while ago you were appreciating _my_ assets. Let's go back to that for a sec." He urges her hands back to his chest and he sneaks his own back to her hips, leaving the two of them almost where they were pre-interruption.

"I don't remember what we were talking about," she fibs.

"Uh huh. I think you were saying something about how sexy I am."

"Is that so?"

"Close enough. You could say it now to clear up any confusion."

"I try to not to make lying a habit"

He scoffs at that. "Ruggedly handsome, then?"

"Eh." She curls her lips as if thinking about it then shakes her head. "I wouldn't want to encroach on the intimate relationship between you and your ego."

"How about cute? Surely you at least think I'm cute." He squeezes her waist and bears his teeth, presenting his profile to her, hair flopping in front of his eyes with the swing of his head. She could end this little game by telling him how adorable he is, but she likes the chase. And it feels like they're oh-so-close to the finish line. That's exactly where she wants to be. Finishing. With him. She doesn't even care who wins the race.

"What was the first option again?" Her impatient fingers sidle up his chest, ease along the flesh peeking from beneath his collar, then move to wrap around his neck, manipulating the fine hairs at the base of his skull.

He clears the arousal from his throat, rolling his eyes back to remember what they were talking about. "Sexy," he growls out.

"Sexy," she agrees. Her arms come around his back and she finds herself hugging him, drawing his torso closer closer; his answering arms tighten around her waist until they are pressed flush head to toe. The slow but heavy breaths disturbing the hair at her temple are driving her mad. Their embrace is both sweet and erotic and she has no clue what they're doing right at this moment and doesn't care. He smells so damn good and she scuffs her nose along the day old stubble speckling his jaw. With a mind of their own, her lips sink into the hollow of his throat, barely touching, featherlike presence there, there, there.

God, she's right_ there_ where he needs her, but he doesn't know where there is. Each nerve in his body is aware of where she is (_everywhere, everywhere_), but he can't stop to concentrate. It's too heavy and too light and _he wants her so badly._ His traitorous hips flex against hers crudely. His pants are constricting, he's too wound, coiled, too hard, too needy. He's going to scare her off. She hugs him and he tries to dry-hump her. _How romantic._

"Are you going to kiss me?" The wait is killing her and he looks like he's thinking too much. _Less thought, more impulse, Castle_.

"I can, Kate. Kiss you. Yes. Yes." And he does. A peck at first and she thinks he's being mischievous, but his face holds no mirth, just pure concentration. He leans in again, same small gesture, but this time his teeth tug her bottom lip in retreat and his tongue comes out to touch the place he's marked. When he angles in once more, she's ready for him, her open mouth latching onto his, drinking him in. Her tongue presses against his, in his mouth, then in hers, pushing pushing. Wanting. Needing. _Just a kiss._ A kiss that tells tales. His story, her story. Their story.

She drags him to the couch and pushes him onto it unceremoniously. He looks a little shocked and a lot turned on and that about sums it up on her end, too. She climbs on top of him and wonders for a second where her dignity disappeared to until she remembers that this is Castle, not some stranger. And it's only imprudent because they _haven't_ done this yet, not the other way around.

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"No no no," he groans into her mouth. "Don't," he pleads as she eyes her phone. His hands become bolder as he tempts her not to answer the shrilling device, pulling her hips back to his, torturing himself even more in the process. As she leans back from his lap to reach the coffee table, he takes advantage of her extended form and slips his fingers to the button on her pants, sliding it free. "Please, Kate."

She grabs the phone just as his fingers fumble around the zipper to find the lacy waistband of her panties. "_God, Castle."_ She's breathless and her eyes are closed, but she can feel him staring at her, deliberating on if he's taking this too far. He makes no move to dip his hand lower, just lets it linger on the skin of her lower belly, too too close to where she needs it. Her phone. She's obligated to answer the damn thing.

"Beckett," she pants into the receiver. The dispatcher won't ask, but she's got the "I was exercising" excuse at the ready. Her thighs _do_ burn—close enough to the truth.

"_Tell them to call Esposito. He's had time to reach this base._" His teeth scrape her skin as he snarls the plea into her neck.

"Daddy!" She shrieks into the phone, part surprise to find her father, not work, on the line, but mostly because Castle's fingers have chosen that second to ease into the moisture between her legs. "Hi, hi. Hang on just a second, Dad."

_Shit, shit, shit. _

Castle tosses her off of his lap as if she's scorched him. Kate holds the phone above her head to get a second to catch her breath. She leaves her pants undone, but jerks her shirt down over her exposed panties. She watches Castle pace the room, completely rumpled and running a hand through his already tousled hair. He's untucked his button-down, probably in an attempt to hide his palpable arousal. She won't tell him that it isn't doing a great job. She closes her eyes to get control.

The whole situation reminds her of when her mom caught her making out with Jimmy Fletcher on top of the covers of her bed when she was 16. He had just grabbed her boob (fully clothed-without her permission) when her mom opened the door. They had both scrambled up and Johanna stood her ground in the doorway seemingly enjoying their discomfort as they both fumbled to fix their clothing. Jimmy looked like a caged animal until her mom moved into the hallway and waved her arm, allowing him to run past. She wasn't 16, but damn if she wasn't as embarrassed now as she was then. And her dad hadn't even _seen_ her and Castle, surely had no idea what they were doing.

"Okay, sorry about that, Dad. I was just taking care of something. No, no, you're fine. No, I left a couple of hours ago. I'm, um, actually at Rick's."

Castle snaps his head around and shoots her an accusing glare as if she's damned him to a death sentence. "So mean," he mouths before plopping down in the oversized armchair next to the couch.

"We just got back from dinner. Yes. I know you did, Dad. I don't know, _Dad_." She whines the last bit into the phone and he's sure that her dad is onto him. Them. What they were just doing. Well, he was really the guilty one. He'll probably have him castrated. "Yeah, still on for breakfast in the morning," she agrees into her cell. "I'll…ask him. Okay, see you then. Love you, too."

Kate sighs and tosses the phone to the opposite end of the sofa.

"He's going to murder me, isn't he?" Castle's fingers pinch the bridge of his nose as he slouches further down in the chair, willing it to open up and swallow him.

"He _isn't_ going to murder you. He, actually, asked me to invite you to breakfast," she says with a reassuring grin.

"Yes. So he can kill me."

She rises from the couch and moves to his chair, kneeling between his legs, hands enveloping his kneecaps with a comforting squeeze. "Castle, I'm thirty-two. We weren't caught doing it in the back of your car. Hell, we weren't _caught_ at all."

"Kate, he totally knows what we were doing. And I don't care how old you are. If I caught Alexis with a boy doing…what we were doing…I don't care how old she was. I'd murder him. Torture first. Hell, Kate, my hand was…" he trails off and shakes his head.

"I remember where it was." His eyes shoot to hers. "I liked where it was."

"Um."

She's rising taller onto her knees and her hands parachute his shirt tails to make a path for her fingers to reach his belt. She makes no sudden moves, fingers loosely touching the leather. "Did you like touching me Castle?"

"_Kate…"_

"It seems that you like touching me."

He watches her magic hands undo his belt, the straps opening loosely to the sides. His body answers for him, the center of his need for her embarrassingly obvious, bulging ridiculously beneath two layers of fabric. His proud self-control is being melted by the heat of her body. She's staring at his lap and he squirms under her gaze. He lets out a sudden, protesting grunt when she presses the heel of her hand to him.

"What are we doing, Kate? Tell me what to do." _Tell me what you won't regret tomorrow._

"Love me, Castle," she whispers and pulls him from the chair as she herself slinks up from knees to feet, all lithe and beautiful.

"I do." His answer is unpretentious and he doesn't try to stop it, doesn't want it censored.

"Show me. Then let me show you. Let me make love to you, Castle."

She is swept up, unexpectedly, roughly tugged against him. Her legs are bowed into his sides awkwardly biting into his ribcage as he hauls her to him and begins his trek through his office and into his bedroom.

In short time, she feels her back bounce against his mattress. She inches back until she's against the headboard, satisfyingly winded, each deep breath a conscious effort, a confirmation of life. She wants to kiss him, but he's too far away, still at the foot of the bed, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. He's staring at her and she sees, through the thick haze of arousal, through the glowing love, that he's giving her one last chance to renege. _This changes everything_, his eyes tell her.

"Come here." She crooks a finger at him with her best 'come hither' smile.

He returns the smile. He shucks his shirt to the floor and crawls up the bed, all feral animal, untamed beast. It's hot.

"I'm here." He's leaning back on his knees between her spread legs watching her as she unbuttons and discards her own blouse.

She's wearing a plain white bra and she almost groans a pout. Her panties are white, too, she remembers as he helps to shimmy her pants down her legs. She didn't get dressed that morning with the knowledge that she'd be showing her intimates to Castle that night in his bed. She finds herself mentally cataloguing what she would have chosen.

"What are you thinking about?"

"My ugly underwear."

His relieved laugh shoots straight to her heart. "Yes, they're hideous. We should take them off."

He's kissing her again and, oh yeah, she's missed that. As he busies himself with her earlobe, neck, collarbone, lower, lower, she finishes what she started earlier and manages to unbutton and unzip his pants and push them down as low on his hips as she can manage. "Get these off, too."

He kicks both his pants and boxers down his legs and…this is really happening. Her bra and panties are gone too, and this is too fast. And too slow. And she wants him _yesterday_. And tomorrow. And forever. _Now, now, now._

"Just because my boxers had Superman on them…don't expect too much out of me here." He's teasing with an undercurrent of seriousness.

"Clark Kent, then?"

"It's been a long time since I've done this."

"So, I've heard."

"It might not last very long." Her hand finds him, hard between their bodies and she strokes him lightly, his satiny flesh heavy in her palm. He bites a sigh into her shoulder. "Totally your fault."

"My fault. Got it." She kisses up and down his jaw, sucks on his chin before claiming his mouth again, tongue bumping his lips to shut him up, fill his mouth, as he's opening it to speak again. "You talk too much," she grumbles into him.

"You've known this about me." He bumps her busy hands away from him. He _really_ isn't going to last. How embarrassing. It's her own damn fault—if she wasn't so gorgeous, if she didn't make him love her so much, if she wasn't doing that thing with her tongue. Jeez.

His fingers find her, slide between her legs, feel how ready she is for him. She's whimpering, this pitiful and _so_ arousing sound in his ear and he's dizzy with need. He needs to just make her…just once…because she might not when…_come on, Beckett_.

She's pulsing around his fingers and, oh God, this is the sexiest thing he's ever felt before. He eases away from where she's most sensitive and just watches her come down from her high, mouth open, back arched, chest heaving with exertion, eyes closed, brow furrowed in painful pleasure.

"So good, Castle." The insistent tugging on his thighs forces him so so close to his final destination. _Home_ his author brain tells him, then he reminds himself that he doesn't write for Harlequin and this isn't some cheesy chick lit. But, he has no other word for it. Nothing else to describe where she fits in his life. She's…it. And this, what they're about to do, is just the pinnacle, the inevitability of that realization.

She guides him to where she wants him and he pushes into her, closing his eyes on a sob, one he hears echoed beneath him. His palms are pressed flat into the mattress on either side of her breasts and he uses that leverage to go slow, ease into her until he can move no further. As he draws his hips away, hers follow, not allowing the connection to be broken. He slides a hand to her thigh, holds her still, so he can pull out and drive back in. And again.

They find their rhythm quickly (_they've always been good at that_) and she's beneath him, crying his name softly. One of her hands is gripping his headboard, the other fisted securely in the sheets, her eyes squeezed shut tightly.

He stills within her.

"Am I hurting you?"

Her eyes shoot open and she shakes her head 'no'. She's biting her lip and her hips are still rocking beneath his, but he's not convinced. Something's-

"I'm close. Again. I can't usually…more than once. Not this fast."

"Oh." He almost comes right then. Batting averages, stock market numbers, fuzzy IRS math all swim in his head—he needs a distraction. She's gorgeous. He brushes the sweaty locks from her forehead as he thrusts into her again, slowly. She beams at him and returns the favor, both of her hands pushing his wet hair back, then scraping along his scalp, his neck, then down his shoulders, meeting at his spine.

Her forearms are tickling his ribcage, her knees keep brushing his outer thighs as she raises and lowers her legs…it's all sinfully stimulating.

He hums in his throat as he stills this time to get her attention. She eyes him questioningly, but realization dawns as he rolls over and takes her with him, leaving her straddling him and the angle, oh yes, the angle. She rises and falls on him, making love to _him_, what she wanted. His hands trail to her bottom to lightly guide her movements, but she's in control now, the shift in power, the balance of authority. _Partners._

The next wave hits without her permission and she chokes on a breath and falls back, hands behind her on the bed, his first name loud and thick out of her mouth. She feels him still beneath her, spilling deeply, then pulling her down to his chest. He whispers nonsensical words at her throat, but she understands each of them. _The language of love._

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"So, now that your equipment has all been tested…" she trails off, laughing he when raises the arm that was covering his eyes and leers at her.

"Does it meet approval?"

"Well, thorough testing is usually involved in cases such as this…where the equipment was faulty for this length of time."

He tries to glare at her, but a stupid grin is all that forms on his face. "Well, I think it comes with a lifetime warranty, so I don't foresee a cessation in the evaluations anytime soon."

"Is that so?"

"Actually, regular inspection is probably recommended."

"How frequent?"

"Frequent frequent." He says lowly, adding a hint of mock severity to the timeline.

She slides off of her pillow and moves up over him, wanting him again. _Forever again._

"I think that can be arranged."

**A/N: If you made it this far, thank you again so much. Please give me some feedback on the "M" stuff. My feelings don't get hurt easily, so honesty is fine on all accounts. I plan on writing more in this fandom (thanks to your awesome ego strokes, guys!), but I would like to know if I need to stay out of the Mature category or if I can continue on if warranted. I thought it would be easy to judge my own stuff, but it's not...at all. So, feedback, yes?**


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